Almost Human

Almost Human

Chapter Seven

Bad Dreams

The new potion worked about as well as Madame Pomfrey's supply, which was to say not well enough. Granger had not only taken it off the cooker, she'd ladled it into flasks for him. He drank a healthy dose, crawled into bed with Snuffy, and fell asleep as though he'd been hit over the head.

Father's there, and the Professor. He smiles coolly and says, "Go on, Severus." And the Professor's hand is bleeding. His wand trembles in his hand. "My dear boy," Father says, and Draco realizes it isn't Father at all. It must have been a disguise. "You know what you have to do." And the Professor looks desperate and sad, and the blood's running down and staining his robes, and he shakes himself and says, "Yes. Cover." And Dumbledore says, "I wouldn't ask you to do it if it weren't so important." Snape doesn't answer, just swallows hard and nods. Dumbledore adds, "You'll get the Order of Merlin for sure." And Snape sweeps his wand and says sadly, "Avada," and looks over at Dumbledore. Dumbledore nods sagely and Snape whispers, "Kedavra." Draco screams.

Snuffy was licking his face. "Sorry, Snuffy...did I scare you?" He petted the teapot's soft fur, and the creature nestled in against his neck. "It was just a dream. We're okay."

His heartbeat slowed down, and he began to relax again. Now it was time to make a decision--take more sleeping potion, or get up and start the day. "Clock--time."

"It's four twenty-seven AM!" the clock chirped happily. "Good morning!"

"Get stuffed."

He could sleep for three hours and still make it to class on time. Or he could get some studying done and have a big breakfast when the rest of the school woke up.

After mulling over the options for a while, he decided to get up. If he went back to sleep, he'd miss breakfast, and mornings were the only time he had much appetite.

By midday, he was regretting his decision. In herbology, he was so tired that he accidentally put the Envious Fern he was repotting green side down, and even after taking into account that he was a Poor Abused Orphan Cripple, Professor Sprout gave him a P for the day's work.

So it was probably inevitable that as soon as he took his place in History of Magic, he fell asleep.

He's in the Astronomy Tower, and Pansy is leaning against the windowsill, smoking a cigarette. Her hair is in a snood, of all things, and she's wearing low-cut robes and fishnet tights. "Your turn, Snape," she said, and he sees Snape standing in the circle with Gregory and Theodore and the others. His hand is stuffed in his mouth, and there's blood running down his arm. He looks younger, about their age, and his robes are a little too short. "What's the matter, Snape?" Pansy says. "Are you scared?"

"No," Snape says. His voice is muffled by his bleeding hand. He lowers it to point his wand at Draco, and there's blood around his mouth.

"I wouldn't ask you to do it if it weren't so important," Pansy says sadly, only it's not Pansy anymore, and some part of Draco is glad Dumbledore's in his purple robes and not Pansy's sexy outfit. "But it's the only way to save Harry Potter, my dear boy."

And Snape says, "Yes, I know."

"Go on then," Dumbledore says. "Better late than never."

And Snape chokes out the curse. "Avada. Kedavra."

Everyone in History of Magic was staring at him. The Hufflepuff girl next to him offered him a handkerchief, and Professor Binns said, "Mr. Malfoot, if someone has put a Howling Hex on you, you must go to the Hospital Wing and ask Madame Pomfrey to remove it, and stop disrupting my class."

"Fine," he said, and left before anyone could ask any questions.

Out of the classroom, he decided there was no point in going to the hospital wing. Pomfrey would probably want to take the opportunity to do some physical therapy, anyway. He decided to go to his rooms and lie down instead.

But when the reached the dungeons, Snape was coming out of his office. "Draco," he said. His eyes narrowed. "Malfoy. What are you doing outside of class?"

"Fell asleep in History and woke up screaming," he answered tersely. "Binns sent me to hospital wing."

Snape didn't ask him why he wasn't there, but he didn't step out of Draco's path, either. And Draco didn't go around him. "Didn't the potion work?"

"About as well as the others. Is dreamless sleep as dangerous as Madame Pomfrey says?" She had refused flat-out to give him any.

"Yes," Snape answered. "Are they that bad?"

The dreams, he meant. "Worse."

"Wait," Snape commanded, and ducked into his office. When he came back, he tossed Draco a small phial. "I won't give you another dose. You'd do well to save it for when you really need it?"

The dreamless sleep looked like liquid fog. Draco turned the bottle over in his hand, wondering if he ought to throw it back in Snape's face. But instead he said, "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Snape answered, not quite looking at him. "You'll let me know if there's anything else I can do."

It wasn't really a question, but Draco answered, "I'll think about it."

#

And he did think about it, that night as he was getting ready for bed--or stalling to avoid going to bed. He organized his quills by order of size, and his bottles of ink by color and viscosity, re-read his history notes, played with Snuffles, and even perused Hogwarts, a History, easily the most soporific book he had. Then he sat and looked at his vial of dreamless sleep. He'd use it, he thought, either the night before his interview with the Ministry prosecutor or the night after. He'd wangle some more, somehow, for the trial itself.

He wished, almost, that he'd gotten a vial of fac me certiorum, too. He'd been so sure he couldn't trust Snape anymore, but now he was starting to doubt himself. He'd been nothing but beastly to the Professor, but Snape had helped him anyway, and he hadn't even said anything nasty.

On the other hand, he was a murderer.

But he hadn't killed Draco. He hadn't even really killed Snuffles, since McGonagall had been able to fix him.

But that wasn't really the issue. The issue was that when he thought about his interview on Thursday, he couldn't imagine going through it without Snape.

#

Severus stumbled to the door and opened it, not bothering to check who was on the other side. He wasn't sure he cared if it was Voldemort himself, or a whole phalanx of Aurors.

But instead it was Draco, holding Snuffles on his lap and looking sheepish.

It was probably some kind of a trick.

But he said, "Come in. What do you need?"

"Um," Draco said.

"What?" Severus snapped.

"WillyougototheMinistrywithmeonThursday?" he asked in a rush.

Severus stared at him.

"McGonagall's supposed to take me," he continued more slowly, "But I thought...you always go with me."

Always?

He supposed he did. "Fine," Severus said slowly. "If you like."

"I'm supposed to be there at three."

"Three," he echoed.

"Are people nagging you to make up with me?" Draco asked abruptly.

Why did he want to know that? "Yes."

"Me too," Draco said. "So I thought..."

Severus didn't allow himself to hope that he was going to say, "So I thought we should." They shouldn't. They hadn't had a silly disagreement over a teapot, no matter what McGonagall thought. The problem was that he was a monster. The fact that he hadn't understood about Draco's pet only proved it.

But Draco said, "We could pretend we have."

The idea held some appeal. McGonagall, at least, would stop pestering him, although it was probably too much to hope that Dumbledore could be fooled. "Fine," he said, "We can do that."

"Okay, good." Draco put his hands on the wheels of his chair. "We'll do that, then. See you Thursday."

"See you," Severus echoed.

#

The next day, he told McGonagall that her services would not be required to take Draco to the Ministry.

"You've made up with him?" she asked, smiling.

"Yes," he answered flatly. She was going to think he had actually heeded her idiotic advice. But it couldn't be helped. "We talked last night. Everything's fine now."

"Good," She patted his shoulder; he tried not to flinch. "I was worried, after we spoke in the staff room yesterday."

"Worried about what?"

"Worried about you."

He shook his head. If she approved of a werewolf roaming the corridors, she could hardly complain about an ordinary mass murderer. "Stick to meddling in your Gryffindors' lives," he advised, "And leave me to mine."

On Thursday afternoon, he was pleased enough to turn his second-years over to Lupin, who owed him on, if not for the wolfsbane potion than for taking his classes when the werewolf was indisposed, and meet Draco in the entrance hall.

"Ready?" Draco asked.

"If you are."

"I've never take the wheelchair through the floo network," he said, looking at the big fireplace speculatively. "I suppose it'll be all right."

"I don't see why not." After all, things hardly ever went wrong for Draco, did they?

"I'll go through first," he said, summoning the jar of floo powder and telling his chair to step up onto the hearth.

"I'm right behind you." Snape followed seconds after Draco, and they both emerged into the Ministry's main lobby, had their wands checked, and took Visitor's badges.

"Snape and Malfoy," the receptionist said slowly. "Haven't I heard..."

"Yes," Draco said, snatching the badges out of her hand.

"Good-day," Snape added, with an ironic half-bow.

They rode down several flights in the elevator, Draco looking up at the messages fluttering near the ceiling. "I wonder what happens if somebody gets killed before their messages find them. Do you think they just fly around forever?"

"Maybe," Snape answered. In fact, he doubted it, but the issue didn't seem worth discussing further. They got off at the Department of Magical Law Enforecement, but had to ask directions to Prosecutor Littlebourne's office of several different people.

"She wasn't here last time I dealt with the Department," Snape told Draco. "Of course, they weren't bothering to give suspected Death Eaters trials much back then, so I suppose they didn't need many Prosecutors."

"Too bad," Draco said vaguely.

"This looks like it." The office, which was about the size of a broom cupboard, had the name "Littlebourne" on the door, and it was a rat's nest of yellowed files, precarious piles of law books, and sweets wrappers. It was also unoccupied. Two messages fluttered in the door after them, and joined a small flock that was fluttering around the light fixture.

"Yeah," Draco said sourly. "This does look like the office of someone they'd assign to prosecute my killers."

"It does," Snape agreed. "Probably her first important case. I've never heard of her."

"Well, I've heard of you!" said a cheerful voice from behind them. "Amelia Littlebourne." She stuck out her hand.

Snape and Draco shook it in turn. Prosecutor Littlebourne was a young witch in mannish robes, with a quill stuck in the messy bun of her hair. "Cockroach cluster?" she offered them. "No? You're in my thesis, Professor Snape," she continued. "Yours was a very anomalous case--most of the Death Eaters who escaped Azkaban had considerable power and influence. Now we know how you managed it, of course, but until a few weeks ago it was a mystery."

"To me as well," Snape said quietly.

Littlebourne blinked. "Pardon?"

"Never mind. Why don't you get started?"

"Very well.' She rummaged through the litter on her desk until she found the folder she wanted. "Parkinson et al are being represented by Defender Mowtruckle, and he's vicious. The only defense available will be for him to represent your account of events as unreliable--meaning he'll make you out to be a mentally unstable liar. We can expect him to claim that the attack was a prank gone awry, and to drag out your relationship with Miss Parkinson. She was your girlfriend, wasn't she?"

"My fiancée," Draco said dully. "Since we were five."

"So I'll have to ask you a lot of personal questions about her. But we'll get to that part later. First, we'll go over your statement from right after the attack. If there are any discrepancies between what's in the statement and what you'll say on the stand, we'll have to be prepared to explain them. Okay?"

Draco nodded. "I understand."
"Finally--I'll want you to have a mental status exam at St. Mungo's before the trial. The Defense has said it's unnecessary--but that's only so they can imply that the second attack--the one by the adult Death Eaters--has unhinged your mind. If we have evidence that you're perfectly sane, we can counter those insinuations."

"Okay," Draco said, surprising Severus a little. For himself, he'd object to letting a stranger pry about in his head. "But it was the third, technically," Draco continued. "Attack. Parkinson and the rest beat the shit out of me outside our dormitory before the Astronomy Tower thing. November, it was."

Littlebourne beamed at him. "Excellent. When you're on the stand, I want you to challenge any misstatement of fact the Defense makes, no matter how inconsequential it seems. It'll look like you're being difficult, but the alternative is having them bring out the inconsistencies later to suggest your memory isn't clear."

Draco nodded again.

"Excellent. Now, I'd like you to take me through the day of the attack."

Draco described what he'd done that day in a flat monotone. As he got closer to the time of the attack, he edged closer to Snape until the sleeves of their robes were touching.

"I was talking with--Violet and the others--in the courtyard when the owl came with a note for me. One of the school owls, I think."

"What did the note say?"

"It was--I thought it was from Zenobia, she's a Beater--was a Beater--on my Quidditch team. It asked me to meet her in the Astronomy Tower after class." He was practically leaning against Snape now. Snape wanted to put his arm around him, but Draco was only pretending, so he didn't.

"The Tower is--people go there to, you know. Make out. Sometimes more. So we thought it was pretty funny Zeno wanted to meet there, but I supposed she wanted to talk somewhere private. About Quidditch. So I went up there."

Now, Severus did pat his hand. He hadn't survived years as a spy by constantly reminding himself he was only pretending. It was necessary to inhabit the role. He hadn't pretended he was a Death Eater, he had been one. Dumbledore's Death Eater, but there was no pretence about it. "Steady on," he told Draco softly.

Draco glanced up at him and continued his narrative. "When I got there, Zenobia wasn't there. Parkinson was, and Goyle, Crabbe, Nott, Bulstrode, and Zabini. They're all in my year. Were in my year."

"What happened next?" Littlebourne asked gently, when he didn't continue.

Draco's body trembled next to his. "I don't want to," he said.

Snape silenced the Littlebourne woman with a glare. Draco knew he had to; he wasn't trying to worm his way out of it. He was just stating a fact. "We know," he said.

"I might be sick," Draco said weakly.

Littlebourne nudged her wastebasket toward him with one foot. "Okay?"

"Goyle got between me and the door. Parkinson disarmed me. Then they Cruciated me. Parkinson was first, then Goyle. Goyle couldn't get the curse to work at first, but Pansy--" He put his head down and retched. He only bought up a little bile--he must have skipped lunch--and Snape handed him a handkerchief. After wiping his mouth, he continued, "She told him he had to want it." He put his head down on Snape's shoulder, his breath coming in harsh gasps. Littlebourne shuffled the papers in front of her.

After a moment, Draco straightened up, raked his fingers through his hair, and rubbed at one eye with the heel of one hand. "Sorry," he said, to nobody in particular. Qw

"It's okay," Littlebourne said. "You're doing fine. Except...you said it was Goyle who Cruciated you after Parkinson?"

Draco nodded.

"In your first statement, you said it was Crabbe."

The boy went even paler than he had been, and huddled closer to Severus. "I don't know,' he said. "I don't know which of them it was. I can see--Greg--" he reached out his hand, holding an imaginary wand. "But maybe it was Vinnie." He dropped his hand.

"They all did the curse, though, eventually?" Littlebourne prompted him.

"I'm not sure about Millie. Bulstrode."

"All right. So I won't ask you about the order, and if the defense does, you'll admit you don't remember exactly."

Draco relaxed at little, and the trembling slowed. He nodded.

"All right. After that, what happened?"

As Draco explained, Severus became aware of Miss Littlebourne flicking occasional puzzled glances his way. It took him some time to realize why. Severus had put his free hand--the one Draco wasn't holding onto--in his mouth, and blood was trickling down his wrist.

Guiltily, he disengaged his hand and rubbed it surreptitiously on his robes. At least Draco hadn't noticed; he was still talking. "They had me down on the floor, licking Goyle's boots...hell, maybe that was Crabbe, too. I don't know anymore. And that's when...that's when my friends came."

The tale came easier after that. He outlined the events of his rescue, and gradually sat up straighter and moved away from Snape, until the sleeves of their robes were just touching.

Severus patted his shoulder. "Are you holding up all right? If you can't go on, she'll just have to finish another day."

"I'm okay," Draco said. "I can finish."

"Very well," Littlebourne said. "Another unpleasant possibility you must be prepared for is that the defense might bring up the second--the third attack. That is, he might try to suggest that you've conflated the two in your mind. If he does, I'll have to ask you some questions about that, too, in order to establish that you can keep them straight in your mind."

"I can," Draco said. "When I'm awake, anyway."

"You have nightmares?"

"Yes. That does make it a little hard to remember what really happened. The small details." He looked a bit guilty, as if he should have done a better job of keeping track of which horrors existed only in his mind.

"That's normal. Since we have the Auror's report--very thorough, by the way--from the night of the attack, it shouldn't be too much of a problem. Now," her tone announced a shift in topic, "we can expect the defense to drag in as much of your and your family's history as they can manage. Have you ever done any of the Unforgivable Curses yourself?"

"No. I've seen them done, but not done them."

"If the defense asks you that, just say 'No, I have not.'"

Draco nodded.

"Have you been in any trouble at school?"

"No. Not much, anyway. Out of the dormitory after curfew, once, and some magic in the corridors. Oh, and this one time I set the History of Magic corridor on fire."

"It was just after his father died," Snape added. "He was very upset. No one was hurt."

"Hm. And you're a prefect?"

"I'm not any more." He looked up at Snape. "Am I?"

"No, I shouldn't think so." He couldn't be a prefect if he wasn't in a House, could he?"

"But I was, when I was still in Slytherin House," Draco continued.

"And your marks are fairly good. Eight OWLs last year, I see. You'll look very sympathetic to the court--an athlete, a good student, a school leader--except for the small matter of your parents being convicted Death Eaters."

"None of us get to choose our parents," Draco retorted.

"Excellent answer--say just that, if you get a chance, in court. All right, what about Parkinson? What was your relationship with her like?"

"I've known her since we were infants. Was her escort at balls and things, but we weren't really all that close."

"Were you sexually involved?"

"No. Plenty of time for that later, we thought. Like I said, we weren't all that close."

But he blushed, and Littlebourne asked, "Are you telling the truth? You can't get in any trouble, not at this point..."

"We didn't."

He was a boy, Severus thought. He was embarrassed because they hadn't.

"Did you make advances that she rebuffed?"

"No."

"Did she make advances that you rebuffed?"

"No. Like I said, we weren't all that close. I'm not sure we ever really liked each other."

"How did the relationship end?"

"She beat me up in the corridor outside our dormitory the day my father died. So I'd say it was mutual."

"You were still together up to that point?"

"She was decidedly cool to me after Father was arrested, but she hadn't returned my letters or anything like that."

"There are letters?" Miss Littlebourne seemed to miss the point.

"We wrote at least once a month, over the summer holidays. Just 'Hope you are well, can't wait to see you back at school,' that sort of thing. Mother'd remind me if I didn't do it, and I expect hers did the same."

"Returning letters," Severus explained, "Is a rather formal way for a young lady to announce that she no longer desires a young man's attentions. The Parkinson girl was hedging her bets. If Lucius had escaped successfully, or managed to have the charges dropped, he'd have expected the engagement to go forward as planned."

"I see. Well, let's talk about your parents."

They did, at some length. Draco looked like he might be sick again when Littlebourne asked about his father's abuse, but wasn't, and he calmed quickly when she moved on to less sensitive matters. He talked about how much he knew about his father's Dark activities--not much--and his feelings toward his parents--mixed.

"Say more about that."

"I admired Father when I was younger. That changed when I found out more about what he was really like."

It was rather an oversimplification, Snape thought, of a very complex history, but Littlebourne accepted it.

The questioning didn't go on much longer, and when it was over, Littlebourne sat back in her chair and unwrapped a Cockroach Cluster, offering them each one again. "It'll be fine,' she said, sucking on the candy, "if you break down on the stand. Don't worry about that. People will feel sorry for you, and that's a good thing. It would be better if you didn't throw up, though. Not as sympathetic."

"I can't exactly help it," Draco said, with a flash of irritation.

"It's a pretty common post-Cruciatus effect,' Snape said. The pain was bone-twisting, and just thinking about it was enough to make people sick. "But I could give you something beforehand, to settle your nerves."

"Thanks." Draco gnawed at his lip. "I'm not sure I'll be able to do it. Testify, I mean. This was bad enough. In front of a full court...."

"You'll manage. I don't see how we can avoid putting you on the stand. The defense will insist on it, and it's the defendants' legal right. Occasionally victims are allowed to testify in camera--that is, to a small panel of judges instead of the full court--but that's only been allowed for very small children."

"We'll get you through it somehow," Snape told him. "It you really can't do it, they might be let go, and I'm sure you don't want that."

"No," Draco admitted."

"The trial's set for 12 July. You'll have loads of time to prepare."

"I'll just have to be ready by then," Draco said resignedly. "You'll come with me, Professor?"

"Of course." They hadn't let discussed where he'd be in July, but if Draco wanted him at the trial, he'd go. "Are you finished with us, Miss Littlebourne?"

"Yes, I'm finished. I'll owl you if I have any more questions, and we should meet again a week or so before the trial. We'll also have to schedule the mental status exam--I'll have the healer owl you." She stood and shook their hands.

As they were leaving her office, one of the flying messages fell into Draco's lap. "Charm must have worn off," he said, picking it up. "Wonder where we--oh!" The paper unfolded itself in his hands. "it's addressed to me." He frowned. "From Weasley's father. 'Heard you were in the building, come show me how the wheelchair is working out.'"

"We don't have to," Snape said quickly. "We can owl him from the school, and say you were too tired." He didn't particularly want to talk to Weasley again, not if it could be avoided, and he didn't much fancy spending more time in the Ministry than was absolutely necessary, either.

Draco considered it. "It was very decent of him to help," he said. "But I really am tired."

"Good."

"On the other hand, he probably knows about cars."

"Less than you do. I'm sure of it. The man's an imbecile."

"Well." Draco frowned. "Okay. We won't go."

"Good." So they went directly back to the school, and walked together back to the dungeons.

"Thanks for going with me," Draco said. "I'm just going to...go lie down, I guess."

"Fine."

"Thanks." But he didn't go into his room.

"Do you want something else?"

"Um. Do you think you could sit with me for a bit?"

"Yes."